Crave You
by Euregatto
Summary: Wesker thought she wanted the world, but Excella Gionne had her eyes set on something much... bigger. A story about choosing the wrong path and living with the consequences, as lurid as they may be. Wesker/Excella, implied Chris/Jill -RE5
1. Orders are Orders

**IMPORTANT A/N**: Oh jeez I'm so embarrassed to post this. Ok, so, I was emptying my laptop of old stuff and found this one-shot (among others) laying around that I had written and finished a while ago following the release of RE6. I swear, I don't write limes or lemons - which is why I'm so embarrassed of posting this story - but I _really_ liked this one and this idea. Although I wasn't supposed to write or update anymore, this is technically neither. So I hope you enjoy it!

Inspired originally, since I had the link in the file, by an anonymous comment on LiveJournal: "Excella had her eyes set on something much... _bigger_. Amirite?" I died at that.

_**Please remember to review!**_ It'll make me feel better about posting this o.o

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**Crave You**

A Wesker x Excella one-shot by: _Euregatto_

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"I thought you wanted the world."

The statement comes out just as dry and bitter as the rest of what he says – which, to her, is more of a forced habit rather than anything else – but she senses a tidbit of humor in his normally stoic voice, enough to coax her into replying with an honest answer. It's been tense between them recently; so tense, in fact, that she was sure she could spark a fire with all the friction… but it's a relief to hear him letting loose a little.

She decides that he's been a tad too hasty lately. He's impatient and irritable and, above all else, silent. She admits to herself that she misses the old him – the man she teamed up with to sit beside on the throne of the new world, a beautiful collection of smeared blood and fragmented bodies – and she finds herself moving her pointed nails to the small of his back. He doesn't react to the touch, which surprises her, because she's so accustomed to him pulling away upon contact.

The corner of her glossy lips pulls up into a small smile. "I do. But I want something to go with it…"

Her previously confident words fumble in her throat and fail her, which, in itself, is an impossible accomplishment. She's always been a Chatty Kathy; sticking her nose where it didn't belong and eavesdropping because she simply _hated _when she was kicked out of the loop. But she concludes that her lack of a wistful response is triggered by the man at her side who is leaning against the same table she's currently sitting on.

He crosses his arms back against his chest and turns his ever watchful gaze to her, then swings it back over to the monitors flickering before them. "You want more than what I can offer you, then," he figures, humorless and tastelessly dry as ever, enough so that she feels her tongue become like sandpaper in her mouth. Her dark eyes skim his well-toned frame cautiously, not sure what he's getting at. She tells herself he didn't mean it like _that. _Because he can't. He has no interest in _that kind of stuff, _but she wouldn't mind his advances at all. He is, after all, handsome. _Very_ handsome.

She observes the way he breathes deeply, like he hasn't had fresh air for a while, and crosses one leg lazily over the other. He's as equally tense as he is casual; far too relaxed, she notes, for their kind of situation. _He's so monotone, _she declares silently. _Monotone and sexy, unfortunately for me._

Same uniform day in, day out, accompanied by a haircut that never moves even a millimeter out of place. Come to think of it, did this guy even sleep? He is as equally monotone and sexually appealing as he is weird. _Or perhaps just fascinating…_she thinks, nails biting into the obsidian fabric of his shirt as she rakes her hand up along his spine,_ like one of his freak show experiments._

"I believe," she starts as her confidence gradually returns to her, bit by bit, breath by breath that matches evenly with the quickening pulse of her heart, "that you can give me everything I want, Albert."

Her slender fingers find the familiar nape of his muscular shoulder and she notices that his crimson gaze is peering at her through the corner of his sunglasses – black as night, menacing and impossibly concealing. He goes rigid, back arcing only an inch or two out of its original position, but still enough for her to notice. That's her invite. She waits peevishly for a response – a twitch, a blink – and tries her best not to look so impatient, but then his flaring eyes shift down towards the floor, back up to her face, a little down to the left and across to the right. He knows what she's thinking. _She_ knows what _he's_ thinking. They both know _exactly_ what's happening.

"I see."

She braces herself for his exit. This has happened multiple times, and every time he walks off with her disappointment in tow. They have more important things to focus on, like the Uroboros, and the brainwashed woman standing guard outside the laboratory door, and the man she's in love with – or so Wesker makes it seem – who's steadily working his way up to their hideout.

She mentally tosses the thought aside and brings her grasp down the front of his chest to his waistline. Hooking a finger into his belt, she gives it a suggestive, frustrated tug. "You might say I have my eyes set on… _bigger_ things."

He doesn't seem fazed, but his eyes linger a little too long for his own comfort, let alone hers. She slides off the table top and presses against him, hips to his shamelessly. Her free hand moves to his chest, delicate fingers tracing every curve in his structure and every detail in his thin shirt, traversing the arches of his shoulders to the nape of neck. Then she moves her hips, gently, slowly, against his, teasing him in attempt to drag him into awareness. As she builds the pressure, she can feel him building, like shaking a bottle of soda until it threatens to burst.

She figures that's what triggers him to suddenly lift her off her feet and pin her, face-down, to the table.

His grip on her neck is strong, as he's always been, but not so much that he hurts her too much. His other hand grips her side, the perfect halfway point between her chest and her hips. "I'm feeling pleasant today, so I'll give you an option… You can drop this whole charade and walk out of here unscathed"—his hand moves along her stomach and upwards to grab, rather roughly, one of her breasts. She cries out sharply, not loud but suddenly, enough to startle even herself—"or you can stay. But I don't _make love_, Excella; love is for the weak minded who have nothing left to hope for and form their own defeatist complex to deal with it. But no, not me. _I fuck_. **_Hard_**. Because I am _powerful_ and will not lower myself to anything below me."

She chuckles grimly in her throat, sending vibrations through her chest that he feels even through his thick gloves. "To think I was worried."

Her words as sarcastic, he knows that, but he takes that as an answer and bucks up, slamming their hips together so suddenly she can't stop an instantaneous moan of pleasure and longing. She's waited forever for him. But she's aware that to him she's nothing more than a pawn – expendable, a toy to be broken – and despite all the times she tells herself this she doesn't care. Regardless, she can't focus on her mistakes and contemplate her decisions if he's flipping her onto her back and unsnapping the chain to her dress so the upper piece falls aside like silk.

He bucks again and she gasps his name, wrapping her legs around his waist; he slips off his gloves and slides the shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere nearby. His exposed hands are surprisingly rough with scars. This, however, comes as no turn-off – in fact, she thinks it makes the way he touches her feel all the more incredible. His teeth grip one nipple and his fingers twist the other; it's painful and exhilarating all at once and she can only grasp his saffron hair to reduce the sting and arch her back to encourage him further. She isn't sure what he's capable of doing now… and she _certainly_ doesn't want him to stop.

He lifts his lips to her neck and lowers his fingers to her waist, sliding over her dress and along her slender thigh. "I shouldn't be so rough," he notes, slipping under and finding that she isn't wearing any sort of under armor – she always comes prepared, the number three reason why he recruited her. "I need you to be able to feel your legs in the morning… after all"—he thrusts two fingers into her velvet warmth and she screams his name as a mingled cry of searing pain and heated passion—"we have work to do."

The pain ebbs away as he moves at a steady, hard tempo, forcing her to adjust in preparation of whatever he did next. She relaxes against the table to ease the tension and cries out when he finds a sensitive bundle of nerves somewhere inside her. _He's **too** good_, she thinks somewhere in the midst of the darkness clouding her mind. She doesn't know where to put her hands so she digs her nails into the back of his scalp and holds on, almost like she's afraid that letting go would end the perfection she is experiencing. And she _certainly_ doesn't want this to end.

She feels her muscles tighten as the knot in her stomach clenches and a blush flares up across her cheeks. "I'm…" She begins, following through with another cry of his name before she can spit anything else out. "I'm…so…_close_…!"

She doesn't expect him to do anything, really, except pull out since she's all loosened up now, but to her immediate surprise his pace picks up. She didn't even know he could go any faster; she concludes that it has something to do with the parasite lingering in his system. Then he moves his mouth to her breasts again. She wants to explode right there and then and another few thrusts should make her do just that –

The door to the lab swings open and impacts the wall.

In a blind panic he shoots out of her and glances up to see the brain-washed woman in his line of vision. Jill Valentine has always been expressionless but she doesn't even react to the sight of her two half-naked colleagues hunched over each other on the metallic table. She gradually glances at the massive dent in the wall the door had left and returns to looking at them. _Oops, _they imagine her saying, if she was willing to say anything at all, really.

Wesker clears his throat and backs away, moving to find his shirt before speaking. "What the hell is it?"

"Intruders in the oil field, sir."

Excella isn't sure how to react to the dying emotions in her body – now she feels frigid and barren, a sense of depraved longing fills her stomach, but she manages to fix herself without a single word of complaint. Wesker tucks his shirt into his waistline. "Chris and his new friend, I presume?" Jill nods. "I see. I'll go get a scout on it." He gestures for the girl to leave and she does, and although Excella assumes he would say something else, he doesn't. He just waltzes out the door.

_That bastard walked out on me! _She sits there for what feels like eternity, but in reality is nothing more than half a minute, seething under her breath about stupid him and stupid Jill and stupid Uroboros and stupid...

_Can't exactly say I'm angry with him, I started it. _

Deciding that fuming over it won't alleviate her of her frustration, she adjusts her dress and heads for the door. Jill is still poised outside, body tucked beneath her cloak, gaze fixated on the wall. Excella presses her lips into a thin line. _Can't be mad at her either. I'm the one who told her to get us if anything went wrong… _"Don't give me that look." Jill says nothing. "I know what you're thinking." Still no response. Giving up, she opts for a different approach. "This is your fault."

Jill doesn't seem fazed by the accusation and she sits upright on the chair posted outside the room. Her hands lightly grip her knees as she placidly settles into place. Excella observes the girl from her higher position – she hates how her only friend, quote un quote, is a brain-washed minion of Wesker's; bred to be nothing more than a fighting tool of war, used to spread the virus and intimidate their inferior subjects into submission, experimented on for her blood and then just shits and giggles until boredom set in. "What's my fault?" Jill retorts after another moment, although her monotone voice is incapable of piquing enough to make it sound like it was a question rather than a comment.

"You barged in on us."

"Your orders were to-"

"I know what my orders were."

Jill may have been under control, but sometimes her true self slipped through the cracks when the P30 pumping through her system was running down… She is all sass and smiles, and occasionally she would even roll her eyes at Wesker's back. This time, however, she seems to set aside all of the careless actions to remain just as stoic as the sociopathic bastard with the sunglasses. Excella can tell the drug is wearing down again. "If it makes you feel better… that's not the first time I've walked in on that kind of situation."

Excella grips her hips. "Uh-huh."

"…Orders are orders."

"I know, I know. Shut up before I pump you with so much P30 you'll go into a coma." Her threat sounds empty despite the minute furrowing of her brow, an immediate sign of agitation, but Jill simply presses her lips closed taught. Excella hates the way she did that, like it's _her _fault for what happened.

_But it's always my fault, isn't it? Oh well… _

She decides to leave it at that and goes off to find that crazy bastard with a now smirking Jill in tow.


	2. The Matter at Hand

**A/N**: Ok, so, I really loved this so I made a second part... hope it lives up to what you guys were hoping for! If you guys want I could make this a short story, maybe a few more chapters longer. I actually like these characters... Made it short though so updating is faster. I also added a scene with dear old Chris and Sheva for important reasons.

_**Please remember to review!**_

* * *

**CRAVE YOU**

A Wesker x Excella story by: _Euregatto_

**Chapter 2**

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Excella spends a total of thirty minutes searching for the sexy, psychotic bastard with the sunglasses; her results are broken up as follows: ten minutes went to walking around asking random Majini people – who were preparing to leave for the oil field – where he was, three went to scolding Jill for just being Jill, another two also went to Jill in response to her snarky come backs to the scolding, eight went to her screaming at the Majini people who only stared at her with their bloodshot parasitic eyes like _she_ was the crazy one, and the rest to standing outside Wesker's office door cursing under her breath as she gained enough courage to give him a piece of her mind and make sure she had a comment for every potential scenario.

Despite the tedious task at hand, she has her slender fingers curled around the door knob of her own office across the hall instead of his, and she realizes that, despite her previous prep period, she doesn't actually want to talk to him. Really, what is she supposed to do? Waltz in like she's invited; like he's been expecting her? And what was she going to say, especially after what occurred in the lab?

Excella sighs under her breath and almost breaks the door off its hinges slamming it open. She registers Jill's presence behind her; the cloaked woman moves in three paces behind her superior and swings the door closed with just as much force as Excella used to open it. The lock, non-too-surprisingly, snaps off, leaving a massive hole in the door frame where the door knob used to be.

Excella whirls around. "What the hell?!"

"…My bad."

"Don't you 'my bad' me! You're not even sorry!" When Jill shrugs to avoid saying anything else Excella feels anger bubbling in her gut, rising upwards like hot air in her chest – she's annoyed with her and **_him_** and Chris Redfield and the B.S.A.A and _herself_ for more reasons than anyone else combined—"Stop doing that! You're going to destroy this whole building before that boyfriend of yours comes kicking down our door… assuming there are any doors left."

Jill allows a frown to cross her normally stoic features. She briefly opens her mouth to reply, but pondering isn't really an option when the P30 limits her thought process – low dose or not – so she allows the topic to drop. "Weren't you going to-?"

"I'm taking a shower."

The blonde woman stares at her intently. She winces as the machine on her chest pumps some more P30 into her system, but it isn't as bad as the overdose Wesker likes to give her when he notices that she's starting to have more facial expressions than Kristen Stewart (she makes this remark to Excella every now and then, although Excella merely looks at her like she's crazy at the mention of it because she's never heard that name before. It takes three conversations at three separate dinners to explain the storyline and events of _The Messengers_ in comparison to _Twilight, _the latter of which causes Wesker to massage his brow in irritation and comment on the deration of society).

Within this interim Excella moves into the bathroom in the back bedroom and starts the shower – pristine, surprisingly, almost untouched despite the months of constant use – so the water is a tepid tempurature. She strips of her dress, lets her hair down and steps in.

"Jill!" She calls out. The blonde enters wordlessly. "Stand outside please. And _don't_ come barging in this time!"

Jill nods – _the drugs are making her recede again… great – _and treks across the office to the notched, oak-wood door. When it slams shut Excella sighs under her breath and dunks her head under the water.

She rakes her fingers through her thick hair, nails detangling the curls in her ends.

Over the rapids of the water she recognizes the familiar sound of the bathroom door clicking shut – _locked_; by the lack of an enormous _bang _she knows, instantly, it isn't Jill, and her back goes rigid in anticipation. The natural fighting instinct kicks in – she may wear heels and a dress that isn't combat-practical, but she was trained to take on assailants during every, and all, situations. And she hits _hard_.

A metal clink reflects off the enclosed walls – a belt buckle hitting the tile, she tells herself as she relaxes – and she counts to ten by the time the patterned shower curtain opens and closes again; the cap to her favorite body wash snaps open with a click. Heavy muscles brush against her back, just a faint whisper against her damp, caramel skin. "Cherry blossoms," the voice mutters, almost like he's contemplating its existence. "You come across as more of a… fruit person."

She scoffs under her breath. An arm wraps around her waist and brings her back against him, the other hand moving a soapy, vermillion-stained cloth to her flattened stomach. Her fingers reach up and back to grasp his dampening blonde hair, her other finding his own fingers, puppeteering his movements so he encircles her stomach and moves down to her hips. She moans in her throat.

She forgets that this is _Wesker _she's with and isn't too surprised when he slams her against the wall, sinking his teeth into the pulse point of her neck. Her cry is what triggers him to force her legs open at her knees and she leans against the wall for support. His fingers find the familiar folds of her womanhood. "I want to fuck you until you see stars, but it seems our plans for tomorrow still stand"—he kneels down, nails digging harmlessly into the tender flesh of her thighs—"so I'll limit myself to fucking you _senseless_."

Before she can object – not that she really _wants_ to – his tongue slides along her heat and she moans his name, hooking her fingers into his hair. The sensation sends shockwaves up to her mind and her whole body tingles; the overwhelming feel of the ridges in his tongue almost sends her over the edge when he starts alternating between dipping inside her and sucking on her swollen clit. Heat waves wash up from her stomach, through her chest and into her face; the knot in her torso tenses and her muscles tighten around him.

She tells herself that she needs to hold on to something – anything – that's more graspable than his hair before she tips over the edge (it'll end too soon for her regardless, but she just wants it to last). Her fingers slide along the tile to her own hair and back down to his. Her whole body is trembling; she's in pure ecstasy and she wants him to keep at it but with nothing to brace against she can't hold off any longer.

**_"ALBERT!"_**

Her body explodes into the orgasm and the darkness clouding her vision scatters in all directions. She shudders as the pleasure racks her being in shockwaves, burst after burst, and he rises to his feet, lips hot and sticky, crimson eyes hazy with _want_ and _need_. He guides both of her arms to his shoulder and pins her to the wall with his body, lifting her legs to his hips. She reflexively holds on to him with a vice like grip – she knows _exactly_ what's going to happen now.

"Fuck me _dry_," she hisses into his ear, wanting nothing more than to be filled and ravished violently.

He smirks into her neck. "Gladly."

He bucks up into her slick warmth and pounds relentlessly at a hard, steady tempo – just as fast as his fingers and certainly just as good – and she can't help but toss her head back and gasp his name between moans, nails leaving scratches along his shoulders that heal instantly. Her perfectly round breasts bounce up and down against his chest, her cries fills the brim of the bathroom, her eyes threaten to roll all the way back into her skull. Pain turns to heated pleasure as he rams into her with no letup – stamina that comes naturally to him, courtesy of the parasite – and strikes another sensitive bundle of nerves within her, over and over and over until she's practically ripping the flesh from his back.

He reaches the entrance to her womb as she screams out something along the lines of "There! _Right there!_ Yes! **_Ah!_** That feels _incredible!_" and holds on for dear life, letting moan after gasp after cry slip at random intervals from her lips. He reaches between them and touches her – caresses her breasts, twists her nipples, sucks the tender spot of her neck and cups her perfect ass – until she tips over the edge.

"I-I'm so close! _Albert!_"

It only takes a handful of more thrusts and he feels her convulsing around him as she comes, screaming his name as her body shatters and topples into exhaustion. He comes a moment later with a mere grunt, filling her with a gush of warmth that completes her emptiness and makes her whole, even if it only lasts a lot shorter than she would like.

He pulls out of her and lets her slide down, panting to catch her breath. He cleans himself off in the water – rivulets of blood and a sticky white film snake down to the drain and she mentally reaches for her womanhood. It's sore and when she lifts her fingers she find that they're covered in similar fluids. She shudders inwardly; it's sickening and wonderful all together, it hurts but she feels ecstatic – exhausted – overwhelmed.

He steps out of the shower onto the mat and grabs a towel to dry off. "I said I would fuck you senseless."

"And I wanted you to fuck me dry." It's her turn to be dry and bitter now. He recognizes the lace of sarcasm and glances at her as she struggles to stand, the tender spot between her thighs still throbbing intensely and her limbs still weak from the hardest orgasm she's ever had in her life (the simple reminiscing thought almost turns her on again). She cleans herself and winces with each touch – it doesn't hurt but she knows she's going to have a hard time sitting down tomorrow. "You know… I can't believe you are this good. You must have been with many women before."

He tassels his hair with the towel. "Four. Three one-night stands and one six-month relationship."

"Why'd she leave you?" The question comes out too fast for her to stop herself and she instantly wishes she can inhale those words back into her lungs. It isn't any of her business, really, but she can't help it – she's curious. _Always_ curious. _Dammit… every time._

"Why would you assume that?" She merely peers around the corner of the curtain and looks at him with her eyebrows raised to form a rather blank, maybe even disbelieving expression. He presses his lips into a thin line, fiery eyes barely moving as he studies her quizzically. "Fair enough. She just cut and run. Never really had any feelings for her, anyway – we were friends with benefits."

She lathers her lengthy hair with conditioner. "And what does that make us?"

He reaches around the curtain and takes her chin into the crevice of his forefinger and thumb. She notes that he is fully dressed now and his hair is still damp. It compliments his already too sexy features; but she doesn't like the frown stitching its way across his face – it's serious and intimidating, an expression that scares her beyond words. "It makes you my fuck toy. And I really do hope I don't break you too soon… it'd be a shame."

He lets her go and exits the bathroom in silence.

* * *

Somewhere in the oil field, Sheva Alomar picks up Chris Redfield's dropped picture of Jill and examines it. The partners are arm in arm in front of the B.S.A.A.'s headquarters, and through the thin layer of grime and sand collected from their mission so far, she can still pick out the image of a ring on Jill's finger. She glances up at Chris who, in immediate return, looks at her and then turns his gaze elsewhere.

She wordlessly slips the photo into her partner's front pocket, right next to the ring.

* * *

Jill glances up from her spot next to the door when Wesker exits Excella's office. She wants to comment about how their wild noises (specifically Excella's) could've been heard from across the safari but she also remembers that this is _Wesker_ – she can't make these statements around him; he isn't as forgiving as Excella, and that girl is a Saint if she can put up with that crazy, parasitic bastard. So she just watches him curiously.

Wesker glares at her. "What?"

She doesn't respond. He storms into his room and slams the door with enough force to make Jill flinch. The woman abruptly enters the office; she finds that the shower is off and Excella is perched on the edge of her bed, body wrapped loosely in a towel, head bowed against her chest; chocolate gaze fixated on the floor. Jill kneels down in front of the older woman but keeps her mouth shut.

"I know what you're going to say." Excella's gaze travels up to meet Jill's own sapphire orbs - blue as a translucent sky, clear and cloudless, unmoving and surrounding. "I know you're judging me and I know what you think of me."

She may have been brainwashed, but Excella knows it's the real Jill who takes her hand and cups her knee, smiling faintly for the sake of nothing, and they can only sit there in silence, neither wanting to dwell on the subject at hand - how sickening and mad and **_wrong_** this all was; but Excella loves the madness. It's like finally taking a bite out of the sweetest piece of fruit in the tree that has been out of reach for so long. She simply can't help herself.

So she takes another bite of the madness and eats it, core, seeds and all.


	3. A High Price to Pay

**A/N**: ...I don't really have anything important to say, so I'll talk a bit about the chapter. I wrote this because the opening to the fifth game implied that Wesker liked to experiment on the people with the Uroboros, and it seemed like the guy Jill infected was someone they didn't like or wanted to join them, and I figured that Excella would have something to do with similar scenarios. That's what inspired me to delve deeper into a situation that could have happened at one point off-screen. I also changed around the story preview so it was a little more descriptive. OK, Enjoy!

_**Please remember to review!**_

* * *

**CRAVE YOU**

A Wesker x Excella story by: _Euregatto_

**Chapter 3**

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_"Please! No! Please don't!"_

The chain-linked light bulb overhead swings back at forth on an arc like a pendulum, casting a dim beam across the floors and adjacent walls, scattering the darkness engulfing the room. The more she watches it the louder the _swooshing _of its spherical body becomes, masking the cries of the battered man tied to the rickety old chair just under the light, which still moves back and forth – back and forth – **_back and forth_** –

_"Please! I have kids! And a wife! They need me!"_

She slides the blunt edge of her pocket knife along the outermost skin of her glossy bottom lip; she's perched on a table as rickety as the chair and has one leg crossed over the other. Her nails drum against the rust-rimmed table top with metallic ticks. _"You're aware,"_ she starts in the native language he's been using since waking up in this unknown place; the same way she begins conversations with Wesker, voice laced with poison, seductive and menacing, and with the same laid-back tone that is brimming with an intimidating flare, _"that I am not merciful. I do not tolerate anyone who steps in my way."_

_"I don't know what you're talking about!"_ He screams in his native language. _"Please stop! I didn't do anything!"_

_"You tipped off the B.S.A.A to the use of the Uroboros in this area." _She slides her tongue harmlessly over the blade – it is jagged and a white, tribal-design dragonfly decorates the obsidian hilt. _"Since then they've been searching for me… and my colleagues, of course. It really does put a notch under my belt." _Her hazel eyes stare at him intensely through the shadows, gaze illuminated like fire in the swinging light, blade flashing metallic silver. _"I can't let this go unpunished. That would show weakness on my part… I have to be strong to survive in this new world."_

_"You're insane!"_ He exclaims, thrashing in his seat. The bonds – a set of barbed wire strips to keep him in place, all Wesker's idea of course – hold firm. _"You're fucking insane!"_

"Insane…" she reiterates, tasting the word on her tongue; then she repeats it, over and over and over in three different languages until it settles complacently into her vocabulary. _"That's a good one."_ She doesn't register the sudden presence of another body in the room until a shadow moves to lean against the exit. She ignores the figure and slides off the table, moving to the silver case at the opposing edge. _"But I don't think you understand exactly what that means."_

She flips open the case and picks up the demented, wriggling creature from the jar inside – it appears to be the lovechild of a squid and a centipede, with legs abode and its body segmented and slippery. It thrashes vehemently in her grasp, hissing, fussing, seething, **_irritated_**. The man's eyes widen as he registers fear – a maelstrom of emotions bombard him all at once: despair, confusion, melancholy, panic; they instantly manifest in the form of sheer terror. _"No! Nonono! Please don't! Please! Let me go! I won't – I won't tell anyone anything! I'll take my family and leave! We'll go anywhere you want! ANYWHERE!"_

_"It isn't that simple._" She slides the blunt edge of the knife down the creature's stomach and it stills; the hissing continues to emit from the ports in what was supposed to be its face, but now it sounds more tame than before… almost like it's _purring_. _"It really just isn't that simple…"_

_"Please don't!" _He screams, "_Please! I'll do anything! Kill me! Just kill me! It'll be easier! Please! Please don't do this! PLEASE DON'T!" _Her heels _click _against the floor as she steps up to him. _"No! NO! Please! I'm sorry! PLEASE STOP!" _She grips him by his chin and even though he grits his teeth the parasite grips to his jaw, legs jabbing through his lips and digging into the flesh of his cheeks. It fights for an opening but is harmless overall, barely able to break the surface of his face.

Impatient, she thrusts the blade into his shoulder. His mouth snaps open for a scream and the parasite slides into the darkness.

He thrashes in his chair like he's having a seizure, infected blood dripping from his eyes, lips, and ears; she leaves the knife where it is and moves back over to the table to close the case, noticing Wesker poised beside it, gloved hands shoved in his pockets. A smirk is playing on his lips. "You tortured him until he pleaded for death and then had the audacity to shove a parasite down his throat?"

"Yes."

"…I am so hard for you right now."

Excella laughs light-heartedly, a gentle timbre that fills the grim, eerie room, and moves up to him so their bodies just barely touch. In the background the man chokes as the creature nestles within him. Her fingers glide up his chest and trace back down to his leather belt, gradually un-tucking his shirt from the brim of his pants. "And that, my love, concludes our plans for today."

He moves his hands to the familiar curves of her hips, drawing her closer and leaning his head into the dip of her neck. His heated breath tickles her caramel skin. "I think we can find something to do in our free time."

In the backdrop, the man falls still. "Albert," she starts the same way she always does, and he furrows his brow in response. "I have a question… Are you ever scared of anything?" She asks him because she hates the way people look at her – their eyes brimming with a despair she can't quite comprehend – and she hates how they beg; she doesn't ever want to be like them. She doesn't ever want to know fear. She doesn't want to love (if that's what you can call this sick, masochistic relationship) a man who will succumb to fear – who will succumb to the pull of the old, broken world.

"No." He slides his lips along her neck; she draws a quick breath. "I have nothing to fear."

Her thigh lifts to the obvious bulge in his jeans and she rotates in circles; he involuntarily arcs his back and his hips jut out to meet her so they're pressed so tightly together he can smell the cherry blossom scent on her skin. "Scared now?" She whispers suggestively, fingers sliding under his shirt to admire the toned muscles beneath. His eyes shift behind his sunglasses and a smile works its way into her features. "That's what I thought."

"I don't fear _anything_."

"Neither do I"—she slides her arms up to his shoulders—"I don't even fear _you_."

His flaring glare narrows dangerously, triggered by what she said regardless of the honesty and the playfulness, but Excella doesn't bat an eye, not even when he grabs her by her throat and slams her up against the wall with enough force to knock the wind out of her. Their noses practically brush together – she grits her teeth and struggles to breathe as he crushes her windpipe with inhuman strength and he growls in the back of his throat. "I will give you _many reasons_ to fear me! I am _powerful!_ I AM _PERFECTION!_ I WILL RIP YOUR THROAT OUT WITH MY TEETH AND FEED YOU TO MY CREATIONS!" She gasps for the breath that doesn't come to her. "YOU WILL LEARN TO FEAR ME EVEN IF THAT MEANS I HAVE TO FUCKING TEAR YOU APART WITH MY **_OWN TWO HANDS!_**"

In a sudden surge of quick thinking she grabs him by his cheeks and pulls him down, locking his lips with hers, throwing the entire moment into a suspended, frozen and silent atmosphere. His fingers slip away and caress her bruising skin, soothing and unnervingly tender.

The light overhead still swings back and forth – back and forth – **_back and –_**

* * *

The door to Wesker's office slams open with a single, sturdy kick and he bolts over the room in the back, Excella in his arms, nothing more than a blur with his vampiric speed – yet another quality of the parasite. This thing was generous beyond words – and his tongue forcing itself down her throat. He pins her down to the dead center of the bed, tearing the clothes from his body and tossing them somewhere across the way as she snaps off his belt, lets down her hair and lifts her hips so he can slide off her dress.

He only breaks the kiss so he can tug at her nipples with his teeth and fingers, earning gasps of his name. His fingers fumble with his pockets and he finally lets them drop with everything else. She allows him to roll her over so she's on her hands and knees and he slides into her, earning a deep-throated moan.

That's when a cold metal presses against her shoulder and she freezes.

It's a knife – _her_ knife. She can tell by the ridges in the design and the short length of the blade. Before she can wonder why he has it – or when he took it from her, more specifically – he pulls back and bucks into her, the same way he always starts; she gasps, finding that she can only grip the bed sheet beneath her.

Instead of the relentless pounding she braces herself for, he starts to circle his hips and _roll around inside her_. She cries out and her nails dig into the sheet, threatening to tear it apart at the seams. "You're mine," he seethes, sinking the razor into the blade of her shoulder and carving down. The pain and the pleasure are overwhelming and she can only writhe beneath him in agonizing bliss. "Say it. Tell me what I want to hear!"

The blade arcs up again and he rotates inside of her faster. "F-Fuck, Albert!"

His razor dips down once more, forcing her face to contort in pain. He pulls out of her halfway and needs at her entrance; her resulting moans send vibrations through her chest and into his hand. "What do you want, hm? Do you want me to fuck you senseless again? Or would you prefer if I bled you dry?" He thrusts into her, a straight-shot to the entrance of her womb, and she screams his name. "I want you to say it! **_Tell me you're mine!" _**The razor slashes up for one last mark in her bloodied shoulder.

"OK!" She snaps, irritated, hot and buzzing with pain, "Fuck, OK! I'm yours! I'm _only_ yours! Happy?!"

He grabs a fistful of her hair and tugs, snapping her head back. "You're always so impatient."

She opens her mouth to object but he slams into her, straight into her favorite spot, and her cries replace her words. He holds on to her at the hip and by the scalp, nails biting into her soft skin, watching with amusement as the blood seeping from her wound goes unnoticed and soaks into the sheets; stains her beautiful back with an attractive, crimson color like paint on a pristine canvas.

_She's alive_, he concludes; so alive, in fact, that he wants to take that youth out of her right now with his bare hands. Her gasps and her moans and her cries match in rhythm to his thrusts, like a heartbeat, like they're _connected_ – and it's the most alive _he's_ ever been since the Spencer Estate. He dares to admit it – he likes the way she says his name, the feel of the warmth of her sex collapsing around his, the sight of the blood and the flesh and **_her_**, helpless and submissive beneath him.

"Albert! _Harder!"_ Her remark startles him a bit, honestly, but he allows the parasite to wiggle in some more control and his ramming intensifies. "YES!" She exclaims, gripping the sheets with all her might. "**_AH!_** Don't stop!"

He notes the she's always so loud, which isn't surprising, but rather agitating. At the same time he kind of enjoys it. "I want you to say my name," he decides aloud, tugging on her velvet hair again. "I want you to know that you are _mine_ and no one else's. No one can have you but me! **_ME!"_** He starts to circle his hips again, alternating between rolling twice and ramming her again and then rolling once more. The pressure is building within him and registers like static in his mind, and it doesn't help that she's tightening around him, close to her release. "I WANT TO HEAR YOU SAY IT!"

**_"ALBERT!"_** She screams, body exploding into the orgasm. The sudden cascade of warmth sends him over the edge and he releases into her, adrenaline depleting and muscles searing. He pulls out and she collapses into the nearest pillow, shivering as the pleasure racks her in waves; he drops beside her, hand smearing the blood on her back as he reaches over to pull her closer.

"You're mine," he reiterates again, a lot gentler this time. "Understand?" She doesn't answer him. Her arm winds around his chest, heaving to catch his breath, and her leg finds his; she nuzzles her head into the crook of his neck. "Excella?"

"Yeah, yeah," she mutters absently, "whatever. Heard you the first hundred times…"

As she lolls off to sleep Wesker makes a mental note to change his sheets when he gets the chance.

* * *

Jill enters Excella's office later that night, P30 wearing down and limbs aching from the day's events, to find the older woman stark naked in the bathroom, struggling to clean the wound just out of reach on her shoulder. The blonde winces at the sight – it's still bleeding and raw around the edges like it had been carved up with a knife, and was that supposed to be a _W? _Hazel eyes connect with sapphire through the reflection in the mirror. _What the hell's wrong with her neck?_

"Oh, Jill, you're back. Help me with this."

Jill steps up to her and takes the barely bloody cloth. She carefully dabs at the slices. "Wesker?" Silence. "I see," she utters after a pause. Excella twitches as Jill wipes away the blood from the aggravated cuts – she's gentle for once, despite her choice method of opening doors. "Sorry, but it is pretty nasty. And it's going to scar."

"You took care of Irving?" Excella questions briskly to change the subject.

"Yes."

"Good. He wasn't suited for the new world. Couldn't have him compromising everything Albert and I have worked for." Excella takes a moment to tell herself how dumb that sounds coming from her lips – but she's **_insane_**, and she's in too deep to back out now. There is no returning to her life before **_him_**. There is no calling it quits. There is only their new world – the sickening madness, the piling corpses, the throne of blood and **_them_** – and she _has_ to believe in that dream because _there is no other option_.

So she holds on to her insanity, because she's going to need it.

* * *

_**Important A/N**_: Despite what I wrote, I do **_NOT_** support abusive relationships - love should be tender, kind, and wonderful. But Wesker is crazy and will do what he wants, so I figured the second half of this chapter is a possible occurrence... especially since Excella is totally OK with everything. No, seriously, that woman always forgets why she's mad and is so passive-aggressive. Oh, yes, and kidnapping people and turning them into your brain-washed minions is bad too.


	4. When the Deed is Done

**A/N**: No, this is not the final chapter. Epilogue is next chapter... which is, ironically, and unintentionally, the fifth chapter. What? I said it would be a short story. o.o Also, I'm going to through this fun fact in here because I can't fit it into the story no matter how hard I try: the woman Wesker was beneficial with for six months was, in fact, Jake's mom, which is why she left. Well, I hope that clarifies some stuff. OK, Enjoy!

_**Please remember to review!**_

* * *

**CRAVE YOU**

A Wesker x Excella story by: _Euregatto_

**Chapter 4**

* * *

She dreams about the U-8 she had attack Chris and Sheva some hours before.

She can hear the whimpering Jill is trying to desperately hold back, mask hiding the tears filling her eyes; she can feel the growling in the back of her throat as Chris demands to know where his fiancé is and as Sheva inquires about "evolution"; she can taste the metallic air from the walls surrounding them; she can see the monster rising up from the rejected man's form, devouring him and turning its undefined form in the direction of the targets.

Then she can smell the fire. It's emitting from all directions, like suffocating smoke that hangs in the air like mist with no real source. When she blinks she's the one down below, peering up to see Chris and Sheva and _Jill_ glaring back at her through the safety of the window. She is alone. She is **_afraid_**, but she won't run, so she faces it and takes a deep breath. The creature slithers closer to her, hissing through the unseen ports in its writhing body. There is nowhere for her to run, so she waits for her untimely end, doesn't bother to put up a fight or cry out for help. And the creature keeps coming.

Then it consumes her.

She sits up with a start, sobbing quietly into her hands to avoid disturbing Jill in the next room, and tells herself over and over and over again that she is alive, and that she is OK, and that the new world is still awaiting her, the crevice between the land and the sky and she just has to create it. So she remembers the first time she met Wesker, when they were much younger and she was interested in the deviant behind the events in the Arklay Mountains – then they, together, watched as Raccoon City fell and made a pact to create a world just like it: ruined, cruel, and unforgiving. And they would rule it together, just the two of them.

She has nightmares about that as well, non-too surprisingly.

* * *

Excella stirs awake, fortunately for her, because she feels, somewhere in the pit of her stomach, that something is wrong. At first she wonders if an important item in her room is misplaced – but upon further investigation conducted with her hands to navigate in the dark and her memory to recall what everything on her dresser felt like, she realizes that there's nothing missing. But the closure doesn't calm the stirring storm in her gut, which she knows is not because of the endless nightmares evading her slumber.

_Damn. This. Shit._

Her next concerns relate to Wesker. She knows that he is somewhere in his room, attention fixated on catching up with the sleep that has been evading him lately, and her legs widen their stride despite the insistent burning between them. The night air is frigid despite their location, and she finds that her paper-thin night gown is a poor fashion choice on her part. Vanity comes as naturally to her as violence to the Majini.

Her room door swings open soundlessly. She moves across to his and enters wordlessly, finding that the lamp light in his bedroom is on, casting a faint, gold glow across the floor. "Albert?" She whispers, peering through the door frame. "Are you still up?"

He's sitting up with elbows on his knees, hands in his hair, and his visible, pale skin rippling as he fights for control over the anxious parasite – it has been a while since he took his last shot, but it is far too soon for another; she thinks that something else is causing his distress. He glances through the crook of his arm at her, but by the lack of an immediate response she knows what he's thinking.

"It's so strong…"

She crosses over to his bed and perches beside him. "It's OK," she utters, partly to herself but mostly to him. She takes his hands and guides them to her face, one for her cheek and the other her neck. "It's OK, Love, just breathe. I'm here."

He occupies himself with stroking the beautiful, caramel skin of her pulse point and she leans her head into his other hand – his breathing is less rigid now and his flesh is no longer shifting out of place. The parasite stills in her presence. "Is it because I am not fit for the new world?"

The question is sudden but Excella tries her best not to take it to heart. She notes that he's never sounded so defeated before; it scares her, sort of, because she knows he is falling into the gravity of the old world, consumed by fear, despair, **_defeat_**. "Of course you are," she says briskly, moving the sheet away from his legs. She crawls into his lap and settles, thighs anchored to his waist. "Of course you are…"

He watches her carefully. "Why were you crying?"

She bites her lip. _Hard_. It is, come to think of it, rather silent in his room, so she knows that he heard her – it might also have to do with her still puffy eyes, which he can probably see in the darkness…but she knows that there is no point in lying or avoiding the topic at hand, so she releases her now bleeding lip. "It was just a bad dream that felt all too real. I'm fine."

"Good," he says humorlessly, leaning up to kiss the corner of her mouth where the bite wound is. "I can't have you going soft on me right now." He moves his teeth down to her neck, gripping her hips to steady her. "Our plans continue tomorrow. Are you ready?"

A sigh escapes her throat as she leans her lips to his ear. "All you do is work, Albert… Let me take your mind off of it"—she slides the straps of her dress from her shoulders and it slips down to her waist, allowing her breasts to fall out against his chest—"just this once."

His calloused fingers find the raw markings on her shoulder blade, still tender from the night before, and he exhales a held breath into her neck. Using that as her permission, she lifts herself from him and fumbles with his pants until they are loose enough to remove. Her hands grip his hair as he dips down to capture her nipples with his lips, rolls them between his teeth, and massages her sides. She gasps his name and he growls, rolling them both over so he can slide off the rest of her gown.

_She is mine, _he tells the parasite and he feels it writhe around within him, _you will accept her because she is mine… But you cannot have her, because she is **mine**… _He moves down and works at her with his mouth and fingers, scissoring her still-sore womanhood open and earning pleasurable moans of his name. _You **will** accept her into our new world…_

He decides that he is impatient and claims her lips, moving his hardened member to her familiar entrance – she is radiating with heat, prepared for him and _only_ him. It takes three thrusts to find his tempo (which is a lot gentler this time than it has been before, but he doesn't mind because she is all _his_, so he can do with her as he pleases and it wouldn't make a fucking difference).

She's quieter than usual as well, moaning into his mouth with each stroke rather than filling the room with cries that could be heard from the oil field. He isn't satisfied with himself – but the parasite is trying to control him as well, so he is caught, but there's nothing he can do.

In a sudden surge of confidence she pushes him over and straddles his hips, slamming her body down, swallowing him whole. He involuntarily bucks up, striking the entrance to her womb; she gasps his name, nails digging into her neck and scalp, then settles complacently in place. She rides him hard and he thrusts up to meet her, hands massaging her breasts and holding on to her waist.

He realizes somewhere in the midst of it that he's being dominated; she's on top and he's submissive beneath her, willing and in sensual bliss. The parasite is dormant now. He dares to admit it to himself – he, despite his position on the bottom, likes the way she takes from him what she wants, the way she feels as she constricts around him; the way she rolls her hips against him. He sits up so they're chests are pressed tightly together and the hope for the new world is somewhere in between.

The angle allows him to hit her sweet spot more directly. She tosses her head back, crying out and digging her nails into his shoulders. He grins now – she's back to her usual self. **_And she's beautiful, _**the virus, the _parasite_ tells him, but he brushes the comment off. That only meant the stupid thing was teetering on the edge of finally accepting her.

_You'd better._

**_Or else what?_**

He realizes that she's tightening around him.

_Or else… her loss would be a real shame._

His mind suddenly goes black as she becomes suffocating, muscles clenched and her forehead now pressed against his brow, and it only takes a few more thrusts for them to both tip over the edge.

**_"Albert!"_** She exclaims, nails leaving trails of scratches down his back.

_"Excella,"_ he utters in return.

They climax together, tumbling down from their high so suddenly she collapses to the bed beside him, exhausted and out of breath and in dire need of sleep. The parasite kicks up again. He pins her arms to either side of her head and trails kisses along the nape of her neck.

She moans in her throat when he takes a nipple into his mouth. "What're you-?"

"I'm not finished with you," he says matter-of-factly, nipping at her skin, "so I suggest you just relax…"

_You are mine… and no one else can have you. **No one…**_

* * *

_"So… this is it."_

_Jill doesn't like the way Excella said that – she immediately, of course, realizes that's how Excella has always felt about her comments. The blonde leans against the ship railing, sapphire eyes fixed on the ocean across from her. "Sorry," Jill utters, voice muffled by the bird mask replacing her other one, "I'm either going to die or go back to Chris… and we won't have a choice but to put an end to Wesker before he infects the world."_

_Excella presses her tongue to the inside of her cheek. "That's perfectly fair, so I won't argue…"_

_They fall silent. Jill wants to say something to keep their conversation going, maybe even by starting it with a crude remark along the lines of: "I'm surprised your throat isn't hoarse today, you know, after all that screaming you did last night until the sun came up." Alas, nothing comes to her, and she settles for inching over to stand at the older woman's side. Somewhere off in her peripheral vision Wesker is preparing a few samples of the parasite and tucking them into the silver carrying case he and Excella seem to always use. Sighing under her breath, she glances up to catch Excella's gaze._

_Excella chuckles humorlessly. "I still know what you think of me."_

_"…I don't think anything of you."_

_"Don't give me that bullshit. I know what you think of me and I am very, very sorry." She grips Jill by her shoulder and adjusts the bird mask because it is a little too high on her face. It doesn't sit right no matter which angle she shifts it to. "But I do not deserve your forgiveness."_

_Jill settles with removing the mask all together, tossing it over her shoulder and into the water with a muted splash. She won't be needing it anymore. "Why are you doing this?"_

_Excella shrugs impassively, although her hazel eyes are glazed over with weariness as she remembers – remembers what, Jill isn't sure, but she doesn't bother to ask. "I simply couldn't help myself… It doesn't matter, Jill. It's far too late to make amends now."_

_The opposing woman opens her mouth to reply but another voice abruptly cuts her off. "It's time."_

_They cast their gazes to Wesker who turns and starts to descend the steps. Jill flips up her hood, gives Excella a firm nod, and treks after the parasitic bastard with the sunglasses like nothing has changed – like nothing will ever change – and doesn't look back._

Excella shakes the memory from her mind and waits for Wesker in the clearing, arms crossed and hazel eyes darting around peevishly for any signs of him or, assuming worse came to worse despite the slim to none chance of the worse actually happening, Chris Redfield. She had encountered them before in the lab and she just barely made it out, dropping one case in the interim of shooting, but he wasn't where she thought she would find him. So she gave him a call in the intercom and now waits anxiously for him.

To her immediate relief he appears, lips pressed into a thin line. He looks as equally stoic as he does _pissed._

"Where were you?"

He pauses at her question and grinds his teeth together. She can tell it takes everything he has not to tromp back the way he came and tear Chris a new asshole, even if all his previous attempts at it have been utter failures. "I do _not_ have time for this," he seethes, snatching the silver case from her grasp. "Jill was keeping them occupied but I didn't know for how long. Apparently not long enough if you saw them in the lab so soon. Let's finish this before they gain any more ground on us."

Excella glances away to focus her attention on the pile of bodies to her left. _Our plans are almost complete… _"To the new world," she utters -

Pain rockets up through her neck and into her brain as the needle pierces layers of flesh and muscle, injecting foreign fluids into her bloodstream. She drops to her knees and grabs the now empty syringe, pulling it from her nape, gazing down in dumb-struck awe at the hollowed cylinder in her shaking fingers. "I don't… I don't understand, Albert… How could you… How could you do this to me? To **_us?!"_** It drops from her grip and impacts the concrete beneath her, shattering into pieces that glisten in the fragmented light.

**_You are mine now_**_, _a voice whispers in the back of her mind.

Excella blacks out, but when she regains her consciousness nothing has changed. She notices instantly, however, that Albert is gone – "You asshole," she hisses, stumbling to her feet. Searing pain rips through her body as the parasite within her fights for control. "After everything I've done… We were supposed to rule this world together!" She realizes she has no idea where she's going, but for some fucking reason Chris and Sheva are across the way, pointing their side arms at her.

Wesker's voice echoes out from the intercom, although she can't comprehend what he's saying. Her vision is crossing and she just wants to puke up all of her innards, heart, lungs, and all. So she can only resort to screaming his name until everything, suddenly, tumbles into an engulfing, overwhelming darkness.

_Damn. This. Shit…_


	5. Knotting Loose Ends

**A/N**: Nothing I wrote I liked, so here's the best ending I could come with, haha, sorry for the wait. I hope it satisfies, and a special thank you to everyone who has reviewed and made my day, and followed or fav'd this story. It really does mean a lot. :) Keep watch for my future projects! Maybe there's something you'll like!

_**Please remember to review!**_

* * *

**CRAVE YOU**

A Wesker x Excella story by: _Euregatto_

**Chapter 5 - end**

* * *

The following voicemail was found on Jill Valentine's cellphone, recorded two months after the conclusion to the mission in Africa, and shall not be used in any criminal case until the B.S.A.A has the grounds to investigate. It has been sent over to a spare PDA to be stored for later retrieval. This is what the message contained.

"_It's been a while Jill. _

_"I do hope life is mostly back to normal for you. You must be wondering if this is the real me - o__f course it is. Uroboros accepted me. I don't remember much after turning, but I woke up naked on a beach somewhere near our old headquarters and went from there; I figure Albert is dead, and judging by the lack of parasitic humans in the area Chris Redfield has succeeded._

_ "You're probably wondering how I got this number. __I drained Irving of his account right before you took care of him." _On the other end of the line Excella plays with the vile in her hand, because it makes a hollowed ticking sound against her nails_. "It's amazing what money can buy you. Now, the real reason I called is because I have some information that you might find of dire concern._

_"I suppose I won't tell you all of it, I certainly love keeping you in suspense. There seems to be rumors of a virus in China roaming around. Perhaps you should give me a call if you want to know more. __Oh, and by the way, I won't be picking up where dear old Albert left off. you can breathe easy again. I will, instead, be taking some time off. Good luck finding me, though. It would be a shame if I didn't keep your organization on its toes."_

There is a sudden click that reverberates into the phone. The sound of a cap coming off of a tube.

_"Do call me back. I would like to be friends for real this time. And I'll tell you everything I know about China and the new virus. Maybe I'll even be kind enough to give you vague locations of possible targets."_

There is another unidentifiable click and she grunts. Chris Redfield has confirmed: it is the sound of a vile's body emptying; she's on a suppressant now, too.

_"Let's just say it's my way of making amends."_


End file.
